


Jeeves and the Lovestruck Spirit

by ataratah



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - Wodehouse
Genre: Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-01
Updated: 2009-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ataratah/pseuds/ataratah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually the women who land Bertie in the soup are at least alive. This time, not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Lovestruck Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Halloween Challenge on Indeed Sir

I don't know if you have ever stepped into a place that you had expected to be your new home away from home and found it already occupied. If you have, certainly you'll agree it's jarring. It's the sort of thing that leaves a man feeling out of place, unmoored from his tethers, like a ship about to drift away from port.

That's how I felt, when I pushed through the door of the cottage I'd taken in lower Tumby Woodside, just behind Jeeves and the half the luggage, and looked up to find a girl coming down the stairs at rather a brisk pace. Or rather, I mean tumbling. Mid-step, she seemed to quite lose her balance and ended up somewhere near the landing at double time.

I shied back in an unmanly panic and nearly took a tumble over the other half of the luggage. We were both gaping, me and the girl, her mouth working in vain to catch a breath and me trying vainly to get my voice to work so I could signal to Jeeves, who seemed oblivious to our distress.

Then the light shifted, shining through her body in such a way that I realized, rather than being in any immediate danger, this beazel was already out of the running, as it were. She continued to gape and gasp, but I was no longer fooled - I know a ghost when I see one, and it takes more than a bit of theatrics with otherworldly moans to spook Bertram.

What's this business about you seeing ghosts, Wooster? you may cry. Coming out of nowhere as it does, it's an understandable shock, but what is sudden to readers new and old is ancient history for Bertram Wilberforce Wooster. One doesn't like to mention it, of course, unless it is germane - if that is the word I want - to the matters at hand, ghosts not being the most seemly of topics. And in previous annals, it was not germane, since, when I say 'ancient history' I mean exactly that. I hadn't seen a ghost since I was so high, well before I started documenting my adventures, such as they are. I had rather hoped I had outgrown the talent, or that it had been one of those quirks of a child's imagination, but there was no mistaking the figure before me for flesh and blood.

Still, she didn't act like any shade I had seen, some of whom, if I remember correctly, were quite chatty, and others of whom sent cold shivers down my spine by drifting about and moaning. All in all, barring one or two of the chatty ones, not terribly convivial company. But I didn't remember any of them taking a gander at Bertram, and then rushing at me like the morning express train.

Except that was what this ghost did. She made a leap for me, and just as I had managed to untangle myself from the luggage and rise, she collided with me. Now, ghosts are, as you are likely aware, insubstantial, so no one was more surprised than I when she managed to bowl me over, sending me once more crashing amidst the bags.

I expected it to hurt, as it had the first time, but everything suddenly became numb and I could barely move my limbs, feeling rather as though I were underwater, or had been plunged full length into a tub of molasses. Not sticky, mind, you, just impeded. I couldn't budge an inch. At length, I gave up on trying, trusting that Jeeves, who'd come over to assist me, might be able to get me unstuck. Only as soon as he'd reached out to help me, my hand finally moved, and - completely against my intentions - slapped his own hand away.

I was horrified at myself. We Woosters have our pride, but we do not spurn offers of assistance from worthy fellows like Jeeves, and I could see he'd taken it hard, his mouth turning down just a touch at the corner. I opened my own mouth to issue an apology, but what emerged was a sharp rebuke, in my own ringing tones, "Don't touch me!"

For a moment, Jeeves just stared down at me, still sprawled helplessly amidst the luggage. Then a cold light entered his eyes, and he said, "Very good, sir," and shimmered off. I hadn't seen a single feature of his face even twitch, but the look in his eyes and his hasty retreat were enough to convince me that he was more than usually peeved at the young master, and I couldn't say that I blamed him myself. A fellow may naturally get startled on seeing a ghost, but that didn't account for what I'd said to Jeeves. He'd touched me loads of times, and I'd never minded it. In fact I rather - well, that is to say, I certainly wasn't averse to the idea of him doing it more, if he wished to.

I sat there on the floor for a moment, and mused at the way life kept throwing these little hiccups my way. Here I was, visiting Tumby Woodside to sort out the troubles of my pal, Loopy, and - oh, wait, hang on. I haven't told you about Loopy yet. Hold on a tic, and we'll go back to the beginning.

It was one of those fine mornings you get just as summer rolls into autumn and loosens it's hot and humid grip on the metrop. Cool, clean air was moving in, and the birds were packing up their bags and moving out. The "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness," Jeeves calls it, but at present, there were no mists to speak of, only clear blue skies.

"What sort of day is it, Jeeves?" I asked, bunging the last bits of the e. and b. around my plate.

"Very fine, sir, though there is a bit of a chill to the air."

"Ah, excellent. A good day for a walk, what?"

"For any outdoor activity, if I may so, sir."

"You may, Jeeves. But I don't know of much we'd be getting up to here in the bustling city besides strolling around the park a bit."

"If I could suggest, sir, it is an excellent season for a visit to the country."

Ah, now I saw all. Jeeves, if not reined in, suffers from an acute strain of wanderlust, and would rove hither and thither like a gypsy, if he could. And every so often, moved by this terrible urge, he begins hinting of trips, or leaving out travel brochures for me to peruse. He gets his way more often than not, I'll admit, but this time I was putting my foot down.

"Not Steeple Bumpleigh again, Jeeves!"

"No, sir, I would not recommend another trip to Steeple Bumpleigh."

"Because you know what happened last time."

"Yes, sir. Most distressing."

I allowed myself to relax, knowing that, at the very least, Jeeves wasn't determined to bung me back into that particular lion cage, which housed not only my Aunt Agatha, but my former fiancée, Florence Craye - man eaters, both of them.

"Very well, Jeeves, where were you going to suggest?"

"There is a lovely little town just to the North, sir, called Tumby--" But before he could finish luring me who knows where, the phone rang and he shimmered off to answer it.

The very hint of Steeple Bumpleigh had me braced for the worst - the name tends to act a like a curse on the unwary, and I half expected my dreaded Aunt Agatha to be on the phone, so I was pleased when Jeeves revealed that it was, in fact, my friend Loopy.

I don't know that I have had cause to mention my pal Loopy in these annals of mine, but he is generally a pretty cheerful chap, so I was surprised to hear him trying his best to imitate a sullen foghorn over the line.

"Something the matter, Loopy?" I asked.

"Oh, Bertie, I'm neck deep in it. You have to come round to Lufton Hall and lend me a hand."

"What sort of hand?" I asked, though it was a mere formality, Loopy is a good egg, and isn't one to wantonly dunk a fellow into the soup, just to have a companion in misery like some of my pals. "Tell me all, my dear Loopy, I'm here to listen and advise."

"Well, it all started with this woman-"

"But Loopy," I interrupted, "I thought you didn't like women!"

"That's the whole problem," Loopy sighed.

I saw how it was. I was sad to be losing one of the staunchest allies of my bachelorhood, but there you are. Loopy had fallen for the siren song and forsaken the brotherhood. And accustomed to the love that dare not speak it's name, he had forgotten how to go about speaking the name of the love that does. In short this man's man had cast in his lot with woman, and now had no idea how to woo.

Well, it was a bit of a blow, I'll admit, but this Wooster has helped more hopeless swains than this in matters of the heart.

"Say no more, Loopy, I am ready and willing to assist."

We worked out the rest of the details of the visit, and then I rang off, after promising to appear no later than dinner time the next day.

"Once more into the breach, eh Jeeves?" I said, returning to the e. and b. The thought of the challenge before me was rather fueling my appetite.

"Sir?"

"That was Loopy on the phone just now. You remember Loopy Lufton, don't you?"

"Mr. Louis Lufton? A charming gentleman, sir."

"Yes, Jeeves, quite. Well, it seems he's gone and fallen in love with some filly, and wants us to rally round and cheer him on and whatnot."

"Sir?" Jeeves asked, looking shocked. Which is to say that his eyebrows rose perhaps an eighth of an inch.

"Yes Jeeves?"

"Are you quite sure that Mr. Lufton requested your help with a young lady, sir?"

"Yes Jeeves, quite sure, nothing wrong with the old ears, after all," I assured him.

"Very good, sir," Jeeves sniffed in that subtle way he has. It's beyond all reproach, of course, but you do get the impression that, were this a lesser man, all bets would be off.

Reading over this last bit, you might get the impression that Jeeves has some inkling of Loopy's, or in fact my, preference for the lads. But when Jeeves says bachelor, he means exactly that. Jeeves, of course, prides himself on the preciseness of his speech, but going further, he's also one of those old, traditional souls that does not see shades of the Greek in a man's natural disinclination to pursue female company.

No, Jeeves was quite unaware. And I, preferring to keep self out of gaol, and him in my employ, was rather careful to keep it that way.

"And Jeeves, Loopy says it's imperative our visit appear on the casual side, so we'll need to take some sort of cottage in the nearby village called - oh, what was it? Tumbling Woodside or something, instead of lodging at Lufton Hall."

"Tumby Woodside, sir."

"Eh, what?"

"Tumby Woodside is the name of the village, sir, by Lufton Hall. If you'll recall, I was just mentioning it to you before the phone rang."

"Oh, so that's where you wanted to go then, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"A nice spot for fishing?"

"I believe there is stream or two in the vicinity, sir."

"Is there? Then I expect we'll both have a bit of a nice vacation, what?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Then I can trust you to take care of the arrangements, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir, I had already taken the liberty of doing so."

"What?" I asked, startled at this display of prescience on his part. Jeeves is always in the know, but this was a bit beyond. He must have taken to reading tea leaves, on top of his regular meal of fish. "Never-mind, Jeeves, carry on."

"Very good, sir."

Only of course it was not "very good" at all. As I sat there, musing, it occurred to me that there could only be one explanation for Bertram Wilberforce Wooster seeing specters, ticking off Jeeves, and declining his helping hand. I was going mad, and clearly was but two steps away from shutting myself off from all mankind, and collecting rodents or some other small woodland creature, like my eccentric, rabbit loving Uncle Henry. Back when I was a lad, and seeing ghosts more or less on a regular basis, my Aunt Agatha had come to a similar conclusion about Bertram, and had been a touch away from having me committed. Only some fast talking from my Aunt Dahlia had stayed her hand then, but maybe she'd had the right idea. After all, one cannot go roaming about the countryside, seeing ghosts and insulting valets, especially topping ones like Jeeves.

This called for firm action. Once decided, I finally rose from the floor, and made a dash for the telephone, dialing the only person who could help me.

"Eh? Hello?" Spoke that familiar voice.

"What ho, Doc Glossop," I said, sound cheery enough, I think, despite my unease.

"Mr. Wooster!" Sir Roderick replied, "It is good to hear from you. Are you doing well?" His pleasure at hearing the Wooster voice seemed unalloyed for the moment.

"Oh, rather." I replied, "And how's Mrs. Glossop? And Honoria?"

"Fine, fine. But surely you're not calling to ask after Honoria?" He hinted a bit slyly, and I hastened to divert his mind from that dangerous path.

"Well, no, as it happens, I'm calling to ask your professional advice."

"Oh, ah?"

"Yes, well, rather - I've been seeing ghosts lately-"

"Have you really? Fascinating!"

"-or just one really, but it was rather jarring, you know-"

"Indeed?" He replied, his tone still unaccountably jovial. I had thought he'd be darkly hinting about padded cells by now. It would have been preferable to him hinting about Honoria.

"Erm, yes, as it happens. I say," I paused, "You're taking this rather well! Anyway, what I was wondering is, would you perhaps maybe have some room for me at the sanatorium?"

At this he broke into peals of laughter, his mirth pouring freely forth from the telephone receiver. Eventually he subsided and asked if I was serious.

"Yes, I bally well was serious," I replied, somewhat hurt that he would suspect me of such a pitiful ruse, "I really am seeing shades."

"I wasn't asking about that," Sir Roderick scolded, "but whether you thought you actually needed to be locked up. You know, after our adventure that night when we were ourselves mistaken for earth bound spirits, I have been researching these sorts of local superstitions, and I must say, Mr. Wooster," he said, lowering his voice a touch, "That at present I am by no means an unbeliever."

"So you won't lock me up, then?" I asked, disheartened.

"No, of course not!" He said, chuckling again, "Seeing ghosts is perfectly natural. In fact, I think I envy you somewhat. However, if you continue to have difficulties, might I recommend you use some salt?"

"Salt?" I asked, not quite getting the gist of the lemon.

"You sprinkle it across the doorways, you see, and the spirits can't get in."

"I say!"

"You should try it," He suggested, "It's a technique highly recommended in the traditional folklore."

"I believe I shall," and after chatting with him a bit more, I rang off, feeling braced and full of vigor at the new plan. There would be no escaping Jeeves with a pinch of salt, of course, so matters there weren't appreciably better, but I was sure that without anymore unpredictable ghostly influences, I would be able to smooth things over with him in time. Jeeves is not one to hold grudges. That is to say, I could probably expect to see the ashes of my primrose tie in the grate, but time heals all wounds, what?

Salt was easy enough to purchase at the local store, and I got a goodish sized bag of it for less than a quarter of the coin of the realm I had on me. That done, I legged it over to Lufton Hall, feeling that perhaps my own problems might pale in comparison to that of my bosom pal, and that a bit of perspective was just what I needed.

When I found Loopy, he was roosting in his study.

"What ho, Loopy," I said merrily as Loopy beckoned me into a room lined with books and heavy, important looking furniture.

"Hullo Bertie," he said, and right away I noticed that he was running low on his usual tank of joie de vivre.

"A pretty bad case, eh?" I asked perceptively, perching the sylph-like frame on the arm of a robust looking, velvet covered chair.

"You've no idea," Loopy said moaning like a door hinge that hadn't been greased in a while.

"Girl trouble?"

"It's every kind of trouble, Bertie. Though I guess it starts right enough with girl trouble."

"It usually does," I noted sagely. I had some experience in that area. Whatever trouble you get up to in the end, whether it be stealing a cow creamer, or impersonating a female novelist, I've found that it always begins with a bit of girl trouble.

"Well, you know how I am with girls, Bertie. I can't stand the creatures. Haven't a clue what to do around them. And I guess my father must have realized it, because he went ahead and had me betrothed to one, right before he expired a few years ago. You knew about my father, right Bertie?" He asked, looking a little forlorn.

I nodded and began to soothe, fearing he'd been overcome with melancholy, but he shook me off instanter, "No, no, it's fine, if I'd known what he was getting me into, I'd have danced on his grave. We were never close. Anyway," he said, shaking his head sadly, "That was Gloria Hart."

"Ah, the fiancée. What is she like?" I asked, hoping she was built more along the solid, sweet lines of my cousin Angela, and less like a fire breathing dragon, like Florence. I mean, if he was going to throw over the lads for an item of the fairer sex, it had to be fairly hot stuff, what? "When do I meet the light of your life."

"She's not the light of my life Bertie," He said with a touch of impatience, "What with one thing and another, she's gone and died."

I wanted to ask him for the whole story, but there was an moment when I could not reply, mainly because I had fallen off the arm of the chair I had sat on, and tumbled to the ground in shock at the news. Loopy came round and helped me up, and he was just reaching round to dust something off the back of my suit when the door opened.

A golden haired young Adonis bounded into the room, took the whole scene in with one sweep of the sapphire blues, and said, "Well, I never! First that girl and now him." He directed this last comment at me and topped it off with a scathing glare. About what I'm used to, really, but generally not from people I haven't even been introduced to.

"Here, now," I began.

"Alain!" Loopy cried.

"Oh, forgive me, sir," the young man returned, in tones that begged for apology as much as a rich man begs for crumbs on the street, "I'm just a secretary, I don't have any right to be offended." He slammed the folder he was carrying down on Loopy's overlarge desk so hard that all the papers burst out and flew everywhere. Then as an encore, he slammed the door on the way out of the study too.

"Oh dear," Loopy said, "I had better go after him. I'll see you at dinner, Bertie?" And he barely waited for me to wave him off before he was gone.

Well, it pained me to have to return to the cottage without making any progress on Loopy's case. I didn't even have the circs to ponder on the way back, and so spent the whole of the brisk stroll down the lane, past the hedge, and through the little wood thinking of Jeeves instead. Or more specifically, how I was to smooth things over with him without telling him the truth. In most circumstances, I am the first to agree to that honesty is the best policy, but I couldn't see that Jeeves would accept me blaming my rough treatment of him on a ghost. He'd think I was off my rocker, Doc Glossop's professional opinion aside, and would either bung me into the first loony bin we came across, or quit my employ. I mean, if a man can pick and chose who he worked for - and Jeeves could - he wasn't going to stick with a gentleman who made a practice of chatting up the dead.

Clearly the best thing for it was to pretend that nothing had happened, and leave my faith in the sack of salt now waiting steadfastly in the boot of my car.

Still, it was with a heavy tread that I once more set foot into my temporary abode.

Unlike the first time I had entered that foul cottage, nothing out of the ordinary greeted me on my return. Jeeves had even effected something of a miracle in my absence, because while I couldn't say I had noticed any dirt or dinginess about the place before, it was now practically gleaming, benefiting, I knew, from Jeeves's talented hand with the dust rag and polish.

Perhaps he'd cleared out the ghost with the cobwebs, I reflected, and gave Jeeves a warmer than usual smile when he brought me a whiskey and soda.

"This is sort of a nice little place. All the modern conveniences and so forth, what?"

Jeeves responded with his usual solemnity, "All but one, sir, the builder neglected to install a bell."

"A bell?"

"To summon the servants, sir. In your case, me."

"Ah, yes. I'd almost forgotten what they're for, you know, you're so dashed good at anticipating the young master's needs before I even know of them, Jeeves," I beamed at the man, pleased that he seemed to have forgiven my cross behavior, and was brimful as ever of the feudal spirit.

"Thank you, sir, one does hope to give satisfaction. However, in the event that I am not able to predict your needs, I have taken the liberty of providing a bell, sir," Jeeves replied, and proceeded to extract a bell from somewhere about his person - with Jeeves, you can never quite tell from where he gets these little things - and handed it to me.

It was a pretty silver jobbie, the sort of the thing my Uncle Tom would have lusted after for his collection, though it looked a little formal for summoning servants. I admired it briefly for a moment, then set it on the table, quite ready to forget all about it. When a man has a valet like Jeeves, he gets out of the habit of bells.

Jeeves, however, drew my attention back to it with the persistence of a bull terrier, "For instance, sir, if at some point during our stay you encounter one of the spirits that is rumored to dwell here, I hope you will summon me."

If Jeeves hadn't placed little scented bowls of potpourri about the place, I would have said I smelled a rat.

"Jeeves!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you know that this cottage was haunted when you let it, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir," he replied with perfect calm.

"But why?" I sputtered a bit. "You know how I feel about ghosts, Jeeves," I rebuked him, thinking of how I had spent my childhood hiding under beds and in closets to avoid the creepiest members of the species.

"If I might venture to contradict you, sir, you have never mentioned your opinion on the subject."

"I haven't?"

"No, sir."

"Well, that's never stopped you knowing something before."

"Indeed, sir."

"But you didn't know about this, Jeeves?"

"No, sir. If you'll pardon me, I knew of the reported hauntings in the vicinity, but I did not suspect it would be a problem, as most scholars are, indeed, deeply skeptical of the very existence of these sorts of paranormal manifestations."

"Oh, are they?" I replied. And I meant it to sting.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Jeeves?"

"May I ask how you knew the cottage was haunted, sir?" His face was blank, as it usually is, but I could see a bit of a twinkle in his eyes, the one he gets when he's about to be terribly clever, or has just gotten one over on me by burning a brand new pair of my socks or some-such.

It was here that I became aware of the stickiness of my position. If I admitted to seeing a ghost this morning, he'd wonder, naturally, why I hadn't told him before, after it had caused me to behave so strangely. Then there was that other bit, where brainier coves than I had clearly decided that there was no such thing as ghosts, meaning that Jeeves would no doubt misconstrue my confession as the ravings of a mad man. However, and here was where it got sticky, if I did not tell, and he found out later - and Jeeves generally does find out about these things - he would not like that I had not told him when he'd asked.

Still, there was always a chance that he would not find out, especially if my gambit with the salt produced the goods, so I gave him an insouciant grin and replied, "No, Jeeves, you may not."

'Very good, sir," Jeeves said stiffly, his eye losing his twinkle, and his tone once more becoming soupy. "If you'll pardon my saying so, sir, you are back sooner than I had expected. Did you meet with Mr. Lufton?"

"Yes, Jeeves, but only for a moment before he was called away."

"I see, sir. Was he able to communicate to you the nature of his troubles, sir?"

"Nothing worth bending your ear with, Jeeves. As much as I admire your brain, even you couldn't get much out of the what I've learned so far."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"No worries, Jeeves, in a few hours Loopy and I will be chowing down at supper. Then, after, we'll be relaxing with brandy and cigars. And at some point, sooner or later, I've no doubt he'll open up and tell all."

But I was wrong, as it turned out, and Loopy was taciturn all through the excellent dinner he served up, wilting under the smoldering eye of his secretary, who might have shown more tact than to gnaw away at the hand that fed him before the fed meal was even wiped off the plate.

Luckily, the secretary did not join us for brandy, but this was little comfort, as Loopy was still uncommunicative.

"Listen Bertie," He said, nearly whispering for no reason that I could figure out, "We can't talk here."

"I say, Loopy, why not?" I boggled, looking around at the room, which was large and completely empty of other persons.

"I can't be closeted away with you for too long," He explained, explaining, as it happened, nothing, "He's already too suspicious."

"Who is?"

"Nevermind, Bertie, I don't have time to explain."

"Don't you?" I asked, "I dare say it's only been five minutes, and I'm not sure how much I could justly be suspected of in anything under a quarter of an hour."

"Nevertheless," Loopy said firmly, stubbing out his cigar, "I can't risk it. You'll have to meet me somewhere else."

"You're being awfully mysterious about all this, Loopy."

"There's a gazebo on the far end of the rose garden."

"Is there?" I queried, puzzled by this non sequitur.

"Meet me there tomorrow morning at 10 AM."

"10 AM, are you mad? I don't wake up before 11 for anything other than national emergencies!" I protested. After all, a man has to sleep sometimes, and we Woosters are not only fond of a nice lie in, we consider it something of a necessity for living.

"It is a national emergency," Loopy said coldly, "10 AM. Gazebo."

"Fine, fine."

"Excellent. Now shoo, Bertie," He said, waving me out as if I were a recalcitrant hound.

Well, a Wooster knows when he isn't wanted, so I allowed myself to be shooed, with nothing to show for an evening's efforts. Thankfully, Loopy's chef knew his business, otherwise I would have had to count the whole thing as a total loss.

Later, after Jeeves had eased me out of my suit and into a hot bath, I philosophized that at least it was a lot more peaceful, not knowing what Loopy's problem was. Usually by now, I was so sweating over my pal's dire straights that it was impossible to enjoy a nice splash in the bath and then a good night's sleep. But so far, all was smooth sailing. I hadn't even seen a single filly so far, besides the ghost of this morning, or heard of one, other than the dead fiancée, so there was little risk of Bertram becoming accidentally engaged, and needing to get fished out of the soup as well. And I had my little sack of salt now stashed in the back of the hall closet, ready and waiting to be employed at my defense, as soon as I could get Jeeves to look the other way.

Jeeves usually dances attendance on me when I'm in my bath, handing me the soap, washcloth or towel as I need them, or sometimes simply chats with me while I push the rubber duck around the tub.

But if it looks like I'm settling in for a good long wallow in the suds, he usually biffs off on mysterious errands of his own, returning precisely as the H2O is cooling to retrieve the young master, and wrap him in a warmed and fluffy towel.

This was just such a time, and Jeeves had left me after his careful tweaking of the taps had got the water just right. But as I leaned back against the porcelain and closed the peepers, I became aware of one of those uncanny country sounds, like the wind in the trees or the cry of the fox, that sounds perfectly natural in daylight, but becomes the stuff of gothic horror novels in the dark watches of the night. The wailing, gasping, noise continued on, trailing off, then coming back full force, until I had shivers running up and down the spine, despite the warmth of the bath water.

No doubt, I should have collected my not inconsiderable courage and silenced the little whisper of fear in my gut, but between the nighttime soundtrack and the ghost this morning, it didn't seem there was much of the valiant knight left in Bertram. Well, when in doubt, I reminded myself, better call for Jeeves. Better men than I would have consulted Jeeves if they had him at their fingertips, and at present, trembling in the bath, that was exactly where I wanted him. At the fingertips, I mean, not in the bath.

"Jeeves!" I called, my voice temporarily blocking out the squeal of barn owl or howl of the damned for a blessed moment.

"Yes, sir?" Jeeves shimmered in beside me, looking reassuringly Jeevesian and mundane.

"Ah, there you are, Jeeves," I said, beaming up at him, feeling better already, if not a little foolish.

"Yes, sir, was there something you required of me?"

"Not particularly, Jeeves."

Jeeves raised his eyebrow a fraction of an inch, but looking more amused, on the whole, than not. "Very good, sir," he said simply and then subsided.

Into the silence between us, there crept that haunting noise of whatever-it-was from outside, though now it sounded more like creaking than wailing - perhaps like the noise of a someone creeping up the stairs, or--

"Jeeves!" I cried, interrupting my own dark thoughts.

"Sir?"

"Tell me something, Jeeves," I begged.

"Of course, sir," Jeeves responded slowly, eyeing me a little curiously.

"Well?" I prompted, when he didn't continue.

"Pardon me, sir, was there anything in particular you wished me to tell you?"

"Oh, no, Jeeves, whatever you like."

His face began to take on the stuffed frog expression it gets when he's near being peeved, and I saw that I was bungling this somehow, "Am I to take it, sir, that what you would like me to tell you should be in the nature of a confession?"

"Eh, what?" I said, repeating his words over to myself slowly. "Oh, no, I'm not asking for your darkest secrets, Jeeves, just any little thing. Read any good improving books lately? What's that Spinoza chap been up to lately?" I said, rather babbling. I hadn't realized he might read so much into things, but I could see how, coming out of nowhere as it had, my request might have sounded odd.

"Spinoza has been dead for quite some time, sir, so there is little news on that front," He informed me, "And I have not read any improving books that would hold your interest, sir."

"No? That's too bad," I said, and I meant it.

"However, sir..."

"Yes, Jeeves?"

"The sloe was lost in flower, The April elm was dim; That was the lover's hour, The hour for lies and him." Jeeves quoted, his voice losing it's usual reticent timbre, and becoming deeper, and richer with the recitation.

"Wonderful, Jeeves," I said when he was finished, "What was it?"

"A poem, sir, from a recent anthology by A.E. Housman that I happened to be reading. I thought you might like to hear it, sir."

"Rather, Jeeves, yes. Do you have any more?"

And without the slightest pause, he launched into another one, just as topping, and the eerie sound didn't have even a chance to make a peep against Jeeves's ringing tones.

Well, his anthology got me through my bath all right, and soon we went our separate ways, he closing himself in his lair, and I legging it for the hall closet.

Jeeve's absence gave me the perfect opportunity to salt the house, and so I did, trailing wobbly lines of it along the windowsills and doorways, till it stood in shining little mounds across every entry way, like white soldier grains barring shut the gates from the unholy.

That done, I felt I had earned the sleep of the just, and fearing no interruptions from ethereal cries or restless spirits, toddled off early for my forty winks.

I would estimate roughly that I had got about 35 winks when a low and cooing voice broke through a rather topping dream I was having.

"Good morning, Mr. Wooster," the ghost said, the sun shining through her misty figure till I could barely see the outlines.

"Argh!" I said intelligently, and she must have taken it for a greeting because she launched right into it.

"You must help me," was what she said, and it probably the only thing that kept me from bolting out of the room like a prize racehorse at the track. I mean, one who follows the Code of the Woosters, does not flee when a woman asks for aid, dead or not. And, after all, it was hard enough on the ghost being dead in the first place, she must not have a lot of choice about who to go round pouring her soul out to, if you'll pardon the expression.

"Help?" I gulped.

She gave me the doe eyes, and, in case you can't imagine it, I'll tell you that it didn't go over well. Mostly because her eyes were glowing like lit coals.

"My name is Gloria Hart-"

"I say, Loopy's fiancée, wasn't it?"

"Yes, he was my dearest love," She said, sounding at once loud and far off. If you've ever had someone call to you from the end of a long tunnel, you know what I mean.

"Oh, ah." I said. I never know quite what to say to girls when they start talking about their feelings.

And it looked like I'd gotten it wrong again, because a rather peeved expression passed across her map, and she flew towards me rather suddenly, leaving me to scramble backwards across the bedclothes.

"We're soul mates," She said, through gritted teeth. If she hadn't been undead, I would have been concerned about her molars. As it was, I was more concerned about the entirety of this Wooster. Keeping her pleased seemed like a priority of no small importance.

"Oh, yes, rather," I nodded, "I believe Loopy may have mentioned something about it earlier today."

"He did, did he?" She asked, less appeased than I'd hoped.

"Well, it was a short conversation, but your name definitely came up."

"He wants us to be together," She sighed with a force that would have propelled a sail boat halfway cross a lake, "That is why you must help us."

"I say, this is rather rum," I cried, "I won't murder Loopy just so you can be together!"

"You won't?" She said, sounding disappointed.

"No," I said firmly, and crossed my arms. There are lines one has to draw, and murdering old school chums is well past it.

"Of course, I wouldn't ask you to do that," She added hastily.

"No?"

"No," She soothed, "I only want to talk to him. It would bring us both such comfort."

Well, there might be something to that. I don't know if she was the girl Loopy was pining for or not, but I didn't see what harm a little heart-to-heart could do.

"Why don't you?" I suggested.

"I've tried," She said, making a moue, "He can't hear me."

"Well, well, well," I said, considering the thing, "I suppose I can relay the contents of a message, what? Act as a sort of go-between?"

"You can do more than that," She said, and I didn't like the way her eyes narrowed just then, like I was a mouse and she a cat that was rather peckish, "If you'll only let me borrow you for a bit, I can talk to him myself."

"How do you mean 'borrow'?" I asked warily, beginning to get a glimmer of insight as to why I may have behaved so out of character the previous morning.

She leaned forward, rather looming over the bed, and I could feel the chill sort of aura she was giving off through the bedclothes, "Your body is what I'm referring to. Just to steer around for a little bit," She said, trying to make her shocking suggestion sound reasonable, and pleasant, rather like my dentist sounded just before he strapped me to the chair.

"To steer around-! Now, look here," I said sternly, clutching my blankets to my chin, "I'm more than willing to lend you anything in my possession, but my body? That's just not cricket!"

"No?" She asked raising a spectral eyebrow, "My dear Mr. Wooster, I'm afraid I wasn't really asking."

And then she vanished, just like that, after uttering the most ominous words I had ever heard spoken in the English language, and quite doing her part to ensure that I would not be getting any more sleep.

What I wanted now was Jeeves. Clearly, despite withholding information and lying as I had, there was nothing for it but to put the whole thing before him, and beg for mercy. I hastily washed and donned some manner of garb, and headed downstairs in search of my peerless valet.

And I found him sweeping what must have been the last of the salt into a heaping dustbin.

I have to confess, I nearly resolved the matter of whether or not he'd think me mad and quit right then and there by firing the man myself. What did he mean, sweeping up the last and best of Bertram's spiritual protection? Didn't he know what frightful danger we were in?

But of course he did not, because I had not told him.

"Good morning, sir," Jeeves said, for on finishing with the salt, he had turned and spotted me, "Would you care for some tea?" He said, and though his face remained expressionless, I could see he was feeling less than fond of Bertram at the moment, and my spirit shrank from laying my needy soul before him when he was in such a mood.

"Thank you, Jeeves, tea would be just the thing," I said, because if tea couldn't help, it couldn't hurt either, but then I stopped him before he could waft off to the kitchen with his dustbin, "I say, Jeeves, about the salt-"

"Yes, sir, it seems some miscreant has been strewing it about the cottage," Jeeves said, in a way that made me think he knew very well who the miscreant was, and had only with effort prevented himself from using stronger language.

"Ah, yes, well... you don't think you might perhaps... put it back, what?"

"No, sir."

"No?"

"No. If that is all, sir, I will be getting your tea," and out he went.

Well, an unlooked for benefit of being roused early from my bed by an apparition was that I was not late for my appointment in the garden with Loopy. I trod down a peaceful looking gravel path, the over-sweet smell of roses thick in my nose, and saw him wave at me from the gazebo.

My own cheery wave was halted when I saw that the shade of Gloria Hart standing next to him, looking at him fondly, and I do not mind telling you that, pride be dashed, I nearly turned and ran for it. However, I never got the chance, for she saw Loopy's wave and turned to look at me, a sinister light in her eyes, and then she was doing her speeding train impression once more, coming for me at a pretty fast clip. She sort of sank into me, and it felt rather like when Tuppy Glossop had put an ice cube down my shirt, chill and slimy, but all over, instead of just down my spine. Against my will, I felt myself smile, and begin to walk towards the gazebo.

After that, I think I must have grayed out for a bit, because the next thing I knew, there was someone else's tongue in my mouth.

I thought for a moment it might be Jeeves, for no reason that needs going into, but when I pushed the someone off me and my eyes had adjusted to the light, I saw that it was Loopy.

As it happened, the secretary, young golden haired Alain, also saw that it was Loopy, for he had just stepped up into our gazebo, and was now staring at us both gape-mouthed.

Loopy reeled, and I suspect it was only partly because I had pushed him. "Ah, Alain," he said, "It's not what it looks like-"

"How could you?" Alain cried, quite rightly not believing a word of it. Angelic good looks he had in spades, obviously, but one couldn't forget that he was also a secretary, and likely quite brainy with it.

"But, Alain!"

"I trusted you," Alain added mournfully, and his tone was such that I saw all. Or, rather, some. Clearly, there was something of a romantic nature between Loopy and the young secretary, and as is often the case, the course of true love never did run smoothly.

"But, Alain!"

"Not another word, Louis," Alain hissed, "I'm calling my brother," he said, making no sense to me - I couldn't see what his brother had to do with anything, unless he was a policeman perhaps, or a loony doctor. And then he turned on his heel and sprinted off, down the garden path.

"Well, that's torn it," Loopy sighed, watching Alain run fleet footed out of sight, like a greyhound chasing a particularly fast rabbit. I daresay Loopy wanted to chase after him, his eye had a wistful gleam, and his lip was quivering slightly, but Loopy is no sprinter. Came in last in most of our boyhood races, save the ones where Stinker Pinker tripped over the starting line and took that particular honor. Myself, I had collapsed onto one of the benches of the gazebo.

"Torn what?" I said, wiping a hand over the beaded brow. Possession, it seemed, took it out of a fellow.

"Well, he was already suspicious after he caught us embracing in my office-"

"I say, embracing?"

"-and then I rather lingered with you over the brandy and cigars last night-"

"Here now, Loopy," I interrupted, "That couldn't have been more than five minutes, ten at the outside," I protested, still stung a bit that he'd flung the Wooster corpus out of doors so early, "I don't know what anyone could have expected us to have got up to in that amount of time."

"Oh pish, Bertie, back at Oxford, I could bring you off in four minutes."

"I'm older now," I said austerely, rather wishing he'd abandon the conversation, or at least the topic.

"And I was gossiping with Bingo last week, and he said-"

"Oh, alright, old thing, if you're going to dig up the sort of rot that Bingo says."

"How is he, by the way? Married, isn't he?'

"Yes, to Rosie M. Banks, if you've heard of her." My pal Bingo had gone and gotten himself hitched to a female novelist, who had penned some of the most treacly sap I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. Best selling sap, it has to be said, but sap nonetheless.

"Alain is a fan," Loopy said, "Got a set for Christmas from his friend Reggie, and didn't put them down for weeks. And to think, Bingo married her," he shuddered a little, and I saw he shared my opinion of this kind of literature.

"But," he said, continuing on, "Didn't you two have some sort of understanding or arrangement or some-such? I suppose that's off now."

"Nothing quite as fixed as you're thinking," I confessed with a brief sigh, "Anyway, once Jeeves signed on, I saw that there was no use trying to hide those sorts of affairs from him, so I've rather given up that kind of thing."

Loopy eyed me a bit askance, "That's a bit thick. Why didn't you just let Jeeves go, if he's such a danger?"

"Let Jeeves go?" I scoffed, "Clearly you are not among the cognoscenti regarding Jeeves gifts, my dear Loopy. I'll have you know, the man eats net-fulls of fish and wears a size 14 hat."

"What on earth are you talking about, Bertie?" Loopy asked, peering at me like he half expected I had caught sun stroke.

"What I mean to say is, the man's a genius. Why if it weren't for him, I would have ended up married to Honoria Glossop. Or Madeleine Bassett - or worse yet, Florence Craye."

"Well, at least then you wouldn't be celibate, Bertie. Don't you find it an awful sacrifice?"

"No," I sniffed, "And if you knew Jeeves, you wouldn't be asking such a silly question."

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Loopy said, nodding thoughtfully, "Now I get it. But you could have just said so, Bertie, instead of talking about hats and fish and whatnot."

I could see what he was implying, but I chose to ignore it. I was weary enough from being toyed with like a puppet, and wanted nothing more than a stiff drink to restore the tissues, but I was well aware that I still had no achieved that which I needed to in regards to finding out why I had been summoned to Tumby Woodside in the first place, vile hotbed of paranormal activity as it was.

So, gracefully, I steered the conversation onwards, "We are getting off topic, Loopy. If this Alain is your paramour, why did you tell me were having romantic troubles with a lady?"

"Not with a lady," Loopy clarified, running a hand through his fine brown hair, "Because of one."

"Ah," I said, "I know what that's like."

"I know," Loopy said, moving toward the garden and beckoning me onward with a wave of his hand, "But the problem is, I don't know who the girl is."

"I'm not following you," I said, and then had to step back quickly to avoid colliding with Loopy who'd stopped to turn and look at me.

He glanced at me, then at the gazebo, which I'd left a few paces back, and then back at me, "Yes, you are," he said, clearly not getting the gist.

"Well, yes, I'm following," I explained, "As in walking behind you, yes. But mentally, you've left me at the starting block. What do you mean you don't know who the girl is?"

"I mean I don't know her," Loopy said slowly.

"How can you be having problems with a girl you don't even know?" I mean to say, Loopy can be difficult to get along with at times, but he's never been one to offend the populace at large, "How do you even know she exists?"

"I don't. Actually, I rather suspect she doesn't."

This was one of those conversations that, at the best of times, would make me long for a stiff one. Or maybe one of Jeeves's special cocktails. But after being tormented by his bally dead fiancée all morning, I was hard pressed to rein in a sharp cry.

Perhaps Loopy could see the strain I was under, because he continued on without waiting for comment, "Well, it's like this. I met Alain when I was engaged - you remember me telling you I was engaged, Bertie?"

I nodded and waved him on.

"I was engaged, but you've seen him, Bertie, he's practically a demi-god, how was I supposed to resist? And he has the softest - well, I'm only human. Anyway, one thing led to another, and we're very happy now, but he's rather got the odd idea that I'm prone to straying."

From what I had seen, Alain had a point. Clearly the Clan Lufton did not have a code like the Woosters, or there would have been less cheating on fiancées with nubile secretaries. Or kissing old school chums with tongue in gazebos.

"Which I am not," Loopy glared at me, as though sensing my thoughts. They may have been pretty clear on my face of course, Bertram has many talents, but subterfuge is not one of them, "Except he swears that the last several times he has come to visit me in my room, he's heard a lady's voice."

I whistled a little, "You're keeping a lady in your inner lair, Loopy? That's a bit thick."

"Of course not!" Loopy cried, "I don't know what he's hearing! It's utterly bizarre. Anyway, that's when I called you, to see if you could help a pal out," He paused and eyed me with a look he'd clearly learned from our headmaster, and had been practicing ever since. I recognized the way the brows sort of pinched together and the lip curled, "Only you've gone and made it worse and now he thinks I'm seducing you."

"Well, tell him you're not."

"He wouldn't believe me. He saw us kissing."

And who's fault was that, I wanted to ask. But I wasn't entirely sure it wasn't mine, or rather Gloria's, what with my not remembering anything, so I held my tongue, "You can say you were taking a gnat from my eye," I suggested.

He considered it, "Do you think it might work?"

"It's worked in the past."

"Well, I'll give it a try," He said, coming to the end of the garden path, "Hopefully, I can catch him before he rings his brother, and try and sell him this gnat business."

"What's so terrible about his brother, by the way?"

"Nothing really. Well, he's a guardsmen, if that gives you an idea."

"Ah," I said, picturing it, a brave lad, in the noble uniform of our nation.

"Of course, he specializes in roughing up young gentlemen for their amusement," Loopy said, rather destroying the picture in my mind.

"Oh, I say," I gasped. I don't know if you've heard of these types, but some of our noble guardsmen will, on occasion, entertain a lad or two for a bit of the ready. And one hears of the sort of club where one can go if one cares for one's amorous encounters with these fellows to be a bit on the rough side. For myself, however, I got quite enough discipline in school, and I prefer my amorous activities to be a bit more matey than one can guarantee with a guinea.

"So you don't think he'll...?"

"It's quite possible," Loopy said, "That he might use his professional skills to make life a bit unpleasant."

We both cogitated on this for a moment of silence.

"Well, stiff upper lip," I offered, with not a little optimism.

"Yes," Loopy sighed, "Quite."

Once back at the cottage, and after a late spot of breakfast, I settled in to muddle things over a bit, but just when I was getting my brain really knotted over the issue, Loopy's dratted dead fiancée wafted up beside me, and I let out a little shriek of surprise.

Or perhaps not so little, I noted, as the echo of my manly warble pinged around the room, causing Jeeves to shimmer in, with a look of concern almost, but not quite, denting his noble brow.

"You rang, sir?"

"Bellowed, actually, and how you mistook that for a bell, I don't know, Jeeves," I chided.

"Perhaps you meant to ring, then?"

The ghost was beginning to turn her attention on him, then, her white lips turning down at the corners, and her eyes slitting in a way that meant nothing good. I couldn't see what was riling her myself, he was standing there looking perfectly tall, and strong, and handsome as the dickens. Still, I wasn't the most objective judge, I suppose, and clearly the best thing for Jeeves was to get him out of sight and out of mind of the restless dead.

"Actually, Jeeves, now that you mention it, I could do with a cup of tea. Possibly also scones, if you'd be up to baking some," I said, shooing him back towards the kitchen.

His eyebrow rose a fraction, "Would you like anything else, sir?"

"Ah, maybe - yes, why not some," I groped around for something that would take a marvel like Jeeves more thank an eye-blink to make, "Some pie, Jeeves?"

"Pie, sir?"

"Yes, that would do very well, Jeeves."

"Do you have a particular type of pie in mind, sir?" His face had taken on the look of a stuffed frog, and I knew that I would be paying for this later, but needs must.

"Oh, any old thing, Jeeves, so long as it has a crust closed round it. No hurry, of course," and waved brightly at him as he retreated to his lair.

When he was safely stashed away, I turned to the spirit, "Yes?" I hissed, trying to keep my voice low, "What is it now?"

She pouted, as if I had hurt her feelings, "You act as though you aren't glad to see me."

"I'm bally well not glad to see you. The last time you popped by for a chat, I ended up planting one on Loopy Lufton against my will."

"I'm not planning on doing anything to you this time," she soothed, "If it makes you feel better."

"Oh, well, thank you very much," I snapped at her.

Only I ended up snapping at Jeeves, who had come in unnoticed with the tea tray.

Jeeves's stuffed frog expression gained a little more stuffing at my tone. He didn't quite glare at me, but there was rummy look in his eyes as he set down the tray and biffed off again. The thing with Jeeves is, unless you really strain your eyes at it, you can almost never catch him coming and going. It's some sort of mystical power of his, I can only suppose, but between him and the sudden appearances of Loopy's late fiancée, my nerves were getting a work out.

"What I want to know," I said when he was once more safely out of the room, "Is why you did whatever it is you did in the first place."

"Well, It worked, didn't it?" She asked merrily, her eyes glowing even more like car headlights than usual, "Louis's little secretary saw the whole thing and gave him the heave-ho, didn't he?"

I nearly choked on my tea, "What do you know about it?" I insisted, still sputtering.

She pointed her headlights at the ceiling and assumed a martyred expression, as if I were simply too much to be endured, "I know about it, Mr. Wooster, because I brought the whole thing about. When you refused to help me, I took steps," she explained smugly, "I took over the butler, and had him summon the secretary to the garden. And then I took you over, and we made our move on Louis. It was simple, really."

I don't know if simple was the word for it. Cunning, possibly. Or diabolical might be what I'm after.

But before I could reply, Jeeves was in amongst us again, this time with a plate full of freshly baked scones that would have taken any normal valet much longer to bake. Well, probably. I can barely boil water without a manual, so I don't actually know how long it takes to whip up a batch of baked goods.

While Jeeves was dithering with the plate, the ghost bent over to smell one of the little dishes of potpourri and frowned, her form sort of flickering a bit in distaste. Ghosts must not have a sense of smell, because Jeeves's little scented herb mix was nothing to sneeze at. Unless you had allergies, I suppose. It was the most comforting, homey, delicious fraternization of fragrances I've ever sniffed. And now it was mingling with the scent rising from the scones in a dashed marvelous way.

"Thank you, Jeeves," I said, and despite the fact that I'd only asked for the scones to keep him out of the way, I was surprised to find I was now craving one.

"The pie is still not ready, sir, but if you have something else you require of me-" He pressed, and his voice was full of something more than the usual feudal spirit.

When he asked me like that, I almost hated to deny him anything, but I would hate worse for him to suspect me a lunatic, "No Jeeves, that will be all."

"Very good, sir," he said, and vanished once more.

Taking strength from my tea, scones, and little bowls of potpourri, I turned towards Gloria, "Look here," I said sternly, "Now you've had a bit of a laugh, and I don't blame you for wanting it, but Loopy will have everything smoothed over with the chap Alain by nightfall, I wager, and that's that. There shall be no more ghostly interference!"

"Oh, no?" She replied, growing angry, "I've had a bit of a laugh, have I?" She chuckled darkly, and the room suddenly felt colder, like someone had just rolled it into an icebox. I clutched at the warmth of my little mug of tea like a drowning man, "I'll have more than that before I'm through. I'll have my fiance back, and you won't be able stop me!"

I made a faint squeaking noise, and then she snapped out of sight before I could ask if she meant to kill Loopy or marry him - though I could not imagine how, in her present state, she could accomplish either.

After a few moments, I assumed she'd biffed off for good, and allowed myself to relax a bit, and take a few sips of the healing brew that is a nice cup of tea, but something hove up suddenly in the periphery of my vision, and I ended up spewing a mouthful in surprise.

"Pardon me, sir," Jeeves offered belatedly, and produced a towel to wipe up the excess liquid from the floor, "Is something distressing you, sir?"

Of course, it was too much to hope this paragon hadn't noticed my upset.

"Oh, no, Jeeves, just a spot of, um, indigestion," I improvised.

Jeeves's eyebrow twitched, "Perhaps the pie should be saved for later, in that case, sir. However," he added, a his voice dropping significantly, "if there was something distressing you, I hope you know that you could ring for me at any time."

"No, no," I waved my hand carelessly, "No distress, it's just been a bit of an odd day, what?"

"Indeed, sir. Perhaps you should stay in this evening, sir, since you rose so early."

"Excellent idea, Jeeves, I think I'll do just that."

The rest of the afternoon was mercifully quiet, and I was able to put aside my cares, both worldly and otherworldly, to get ahead in a new mystery novel. A mystery which, thankfully, featured no supernatural elements whatsoever.

However, as the clock ticked over into evening, I was disrupted from my reading by a soft cough from Jeeves, who requested that he be allowed to take his night off a bit early to go and visit a friend who needed some advice, to my surprise. Of course, Jeeves has scads of friends, many of whom call round the flat from time to time. And they quite frequently ask his advice, too. The surprise was that he had one lurking about Tumby Woodside, though it rather explained his readiness in procuring the cottage.

Still, I didn't begrudge Jeeves a chance to kick up his heels, so I wished him a fine evening, and watched sadly as he biffed off into the night. Well, I say watched, but I didn't actually catch him using the door. I really don't know how he does it.

However, once he was gone, I heartily began to wish that I was one of those ogreish employers who never allows their staff time off, because even if Jeeves is quiet as a cat and twice as subtle, there's a certain thingness to any abode he's currently about that he'd quite taken with him. And here I was, sitting alone in a dim and haunted cottage, missing him like the dickens.

Except that I did not end up sitting alone for long, since presently there was a knock at the door and Loopy rolled in, looking drawn and pensive.

"No luck?" I asked, ushering him in and pouring him a cold cup of tea. Of course, a good host would have offered him warm, or even hot tea, but I can't be held to the same general standards when Jeeves isn't around. Also, after the last time I attempted to use the stove, Jeeves supplied me with a cogent list of very sound reasons why I ought never to attempt it again. I wouldn't say he had outright forbidden me from using it, but the list had been pretty thorough.

"Well, it rather depends on your definition, what?" Loopy said, tasting his tea, and then setting it back down hastily.

"Definition?"

"Of luck," Loopy clarified, but then muddied the waters again by adding, "For instance, there is good news, and there is bad news."

In these cases, I always prefer to take the good news first, generally out of the hope that by the time the chap gets round to telling you about the bad news, he'll have forgotten it. I indicated as such to Loopy and he continued along the proscribed line.

"The good news is that Alain did believe me that I had a gnat in my eye, and therefore, he has totally released me from all suspicions of wrongdoing."

"Excellent news!" I cried, "I'm not sure what there could be leftover to generate any bad news. I take it your two hearts both beat as one once more?"

"Yes," Loopy said, and a dreamy look came into his eyes, "I say, Bertie, if you only knew how-"

"Less of it," I requested politely, "What, then, is the bad news? I don't suppose you were mistaken about having any?"

"Oh, no, there's bad news alright - would you happen to have any cigarettes about? Thank you, there's a chap." He said, and seemed prepared to leave it at that, puffing away at his gasper like he'd done a full day's work and was now enjoying the fruits of it.

"Loopy, the bad news?"

"Ah, well, you see, his brother arrived."

"Nice chap?"

"I dunno, I left as he was coming. Sort of brawny about the shoulders, though, I thought it best to lay low for a bit."

"But surely you have nothing to fear," I said, feeling Loopy was in need of a bit of bolstering, "You said yourself you'd mended the rift with young Alain. Where, then, lies the bitter pill?"

Loopy sighed mournfully, "The thing is, Bertie, that Alain didn't buy the whole gnat wheeze."

"You said he did!"

"I said he believed I had a gnat in my eye. What he does not believe is that you were attempting to extract it."

"No?" I said, taken aback, "Why on earth not?"

Loopy rolled his eyes, and blew out a long, curling wisp of smoke, "He did see your mouth on mine, Bertie. It's not a commonly recognized method for getting small insects out of eyes."

"Oh, dash it," I said, "But this is rather rummy, what? You said he no longer suspected you."

"He doesn't."

"So all is fine, then?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. You see, he suspects you of plotting the whole thing, Bertie."

"Plotting the whole what?" I asked incredulously.

"You know, luring me out to the garden where there are lots of gnats swarming about. Waiting until, inevitably, one found my eye. Then taking advantage of my innocent appeal for your assistance," He gave a thoughtful puff, "That's about the gist of it."

"Well, of all the bally nerve," I cried, "You didn't correct him?"

Loopy's eyes widened innocently, "How could I, Bertie? He would have gone back to suspecting me again, and I would have lost all my present happiness. Whereas you can just go back to London, and everything will be square."

"Well, I like that!" I was disappointed in Loopy.

"You might want to leave rather sooner than later," He added thoughtfully, "Alain may have mentioned something about sending his brother over to meet you."

I glared at Loopy with a cold eye. For someone meant to be warning a bosom friend of imminent peril, he was certainly relaxed, I noted, taking in his feet propped up on the small table, and the half smoked gasper.

"Well, sooner will just have to wait until tomorrow, Loopy," I informed him, "Jeeves is out on the town, and I can't leave for London without him."

"Oh, I say, can't you? Only, I don't think you have that much time," He said calmly, not at all in the air of one bearing news of the executioners ax.

"I will not leave without Jeeves!"

"Like that, is it?" Loopy said, rising and stubbing out his gasper, "Well-" he began, but was cut off by a soft, polite sort of knock at the door.

Well, I can see now that - just having been warned, as I was, of an angry guardsman who had penned an appointment in his day planner to deal with Bertram - it might not have been the most prudent thing for me to have flung wide the door.

But fling it wide, I did.

Standing on the stoop was a man who bore a clear resemblance to Loopy's secretary, although there were some marked differences, quite like what you would find if you were to compare a house cat to a lion. There is the feline aspect, yes, but a clear difference in size and ferocity. I mean to say, if young Alain was Eros, this man would be Neptune. His entire form was rippling with muscles. His shoulders bulged, his thighs were like sturdy tree trunks. But it was all combined together as though by the deft hand of an Italian sculptor. Many men, on having that kind of bulk, looked like neck-less rugby players - and I dare say some of them were - but this bird had the graceful form of a Greek god.

"Are you Wooster?" He asked me, and I thought for a second to lie and tell him I was Clyde Mocklington, but then he glanced over my shoulder and saw Loopy, looking frozen and terrified, and I knew then that the jig, as they say, was up.

"Mr. Lufton," the stranger at the door said, shaking his bean sadly, "I'm going to have to tell Al you were here. He won't like it."

At this, obviously deciding that he did not want to stay and chat, Loopy legged it for the open window, and popped out.

I might have considered similar measures, but at this point, the man, seeing how things were going, grasped my shoulders, and heaved me across the sitting room.

"Mr. Wooster, I am very fond of my brother," he said nonsensically, pinning me against the wall.

"Oh, ah?" I asked, because one ought to be polite, and tried my best to wriggle free. However, agile as I am, the man had a grip like iron, and I made no progress.

"And I'm certainly not thrilled that he's gone and tied himself to that flitting wastrel butterfly Louis Lufton," he said, grabbing my collar in one large fist and pulling it tight, "But he was happy enough with Lufton until you came along and tried to steal him away."

"Steal?" I wheezed, "I say, no, certainly not."

"Yes, steal him! With your fair, soft skin, and your graceful figure, and your eyes that beckon to a man like twinkling stars."

He punctuated this observation by raising one of his fingers from my collar to brush at my throat, and I could see things were getting a bit thick, "You know, I wouldn't have to hurt you if you were to give up on Lufton and come away with me..."

This promise not to hurt me did not seem to jive with what Loopy had told me of his preferred romantic style, but I gave that a pass to address the main point in question.

"Perfectly happy to give up on Loopy, old chap! Consider him quite off the menu, as far as this Wooster is concerned," I said, attempting a sunny smile, despite the fact that I was still a few inches clear of the floor.

"And you'll come away with me," the man said, with a seductive leer.

"Ah, no. Tempting, of course-" or it may have been if my heart was not otherwise at full occupancy. Or if I were a masochist, "But I must decline."

"Pity that," the man sighed, "Because I really just can't take your word for it."

Then he reared back a bit and biffed me in the jaw.

At first, his fist around my collar kept me from tumbling to the floor, though I was seeing enough stars that I half expected someone had removed the ceiling to give me a better view of the heavens. But then he let go and popped me another one, and soon enough I was face first in the carpet, and rather content to stay there, if it meant this rough treatment would stop. We Woosters are not exactly built for action. However, a Wooster must be brave - one strives to be a _preux chevalier_ of course, so I rolled over and braced myself to take the next blow like a man.

However it never came, because without either of us noticing, Jeeves had returned and was now manhandling my tormentor into submission. He made a fine spectacle of it, I can tell you, his whole figure seemed to shine with the fire of justice, from bowler hat to immaculately polished shoes. But then the spark seemed to vanish, just as he used the back of the man's shirt to turn him around and put him in reach of Jeeves's raised fist.

"Henri?" Jeeves said, boggling, and the raised fist dropped.

"Reggie!" Henri greeted merrily, despite Jeeves's continued grip on his shirt.

Henri's amiable smile was suddenly marred by a look of bemusement, "Look here, Reggie, never tell me this is your gentleman!" he exclaimed, looking from me to Jeeves.

Jeeves nodded and released Henri's shirt, "I'm afraid so," he said, and came over to pick me up off the carpet. However, he had just put his hand out to grasp mine, when he seemed to a freeze a little bit, and an uncomfortable look I had never seen before came into his eyes. I realized, all of sudden, that he must be thinking of the last time he had reached out a hand to help me, and stopped himself before he could touch me. He didn't draw his hand away, however, and there was this sort of terrible empty space just between his hand and mine. I practically lunged forward to bridge it, grasping his hand, and then he was moving again, helping me up, and then depositing me on the settee.

Henri watched all this wordlessly, and then made a tsking noise, "You ought to be looking after him better," he scolded Jeeves, "You didn't see how riled up Al was over this mess your Wooster's made."

"I have been to see Alain just recently, in fact," Jeeves informed him coolly, "Which is why I hurried to return here." I was watching the whole time, rather dazed to see how impressive an masterful Jeeves was when dealing with one of his peers, so I was a bit surprised when he turned to me, still collapsed as I was on the settee, and spoke, "You must forgive me, sir, for my tardiness."

"Nonsense Jeeves," I said, feeling carefully along my sore jaw, "I rather think you got here just in time, what?"

"If you say so, sir," Jeeves replied, and turned back to Henri, "I'm sure this has all been a most regrettable misunderstanding. Whatever Alain thinks he may have seen, Mr. Wooster is not the type of gentleman who assaults other gentleman."

"Well, I'm sure I couldn't say either way," Henri eyed me narrowly, "Only he doesn't have the build for it, that's for certain. A stiff breeze could knock that one over."

"Or a bally ham sized fist," I retorted, stung to the core.

"Indeed, sir," Jeeves replied sympathetically.

Henri sighed, "Well, Reggie, if you're taking care of things, there's no need for me to be getting involved, is there? I'm sorry for knocking your gentleman around, I know how fond you are of him."

Jeeves stiffened slightly, "If you'll excuse us then," he said, and ushered Henri out the door.

That Jeeves was apparently friends with a fellow like Alain - not to mention this Henri - seemed to me a distressing coincidence. I mean, he was probably a nice enough chap when he wasn't setting his brother on Bertram, but considering Jeeves's enthusiasm for assisting the lovelorn, it put me in a deuced awkward place, especially considering the fact that apparently, Alain had been the advice wanting friend Jeeves had gone to visit. One might have hoped that Alain would have the sense to keep his romantic woes to himself, seeing as they were illegal, and Jeeves was about as straight an arrow as you could come across, barring some minor incidents with black jacks and knock out drugs that do not need mentioning. But clearly he had told Jeeves something, in re me assaulting Loopy.

I coughed a bit uncomfortably, and began, "I hope I need not tell you, Jeeves, that anything young Alain told you about me is untrue."

"Quite, sir," Jeeves said calmly, though his eyes were twinkling a bit, "I am not unaware of the types of misunderstandings that can arise in these circumstances, sir, and endeavored to convince Mr. Renault of your probable innocence in the charges he laid against you."

"And how did you get on, Jeeves? Did he believe you?"

"No, sir, he is more inclined to believe his employer than myself, especially as he indicated that I had not witnessed the incident in question."

"Ah," I replied thoughtfully, inwardly congratulating myself on the unexpected bonus that, after all, Jeeves had not witnessed the i. in q.

"However, sir, if you would perhaps relate to me the particulars of the circumstances, I might be able to argue more persuasively on your behalf." Jeeves said, definitely twinkling now, and with a hint of a smirk lurking near the corner of his mouth. Jeeves is, I've noticed, frequently all to willing to chuckle at the young master's misfortune, and while in the future, I may perhaps myself look back and laugh, at present, I saw no cause for levity. In addition to which, I could not be coaxed into confessing my darkest all to Jeeves for a hundred pounds, let alone to cravenly save myself from a beating.

"Thank you, Jeeves, that will not be necessary," I informed him, "I am sure I will be able to come up with some way of easing the tensions."

At Jeeves's poorly disguised look of disbelief, I added cuttingly, "I'll have you know, Jeeves, that while compared with a paragon like yourself, I may appear mentally negligible, I have been, on occasion, something very near clever." Generally, I'm the first to admit that my brain power is nothing to Jeeves's, but I could not help that think that if he had not gone and swept up the salt, there would be a good deal more peace on earth than there was at present, and while I could not tell him so, I didn't want to leave him with the impression that he was the only one in the household capable of solving life's little problems.

"No indeed, sir," Jeeves said, looking, if I stretched a point, almost discomfited.

"You don't believe I can be clever, Jeeves?"

Jeeves coughed apologetically, "Forgive me, sir, I meant that I do not think you are mentally negligible sir."

"Hah!" I retorted, and I meant it to sting. "Well, I'm to bed, Jeeves, toodle pip!"

"Sir," He called, stopping me just as I'd reached the hall.

"Yes, Jeeves?"

"If you will take the bell with you, sir, you will be able to summon me if any new difficulties arise during the night," he said, and, not really giving me an option to refuse, handed me the bell quite firmly, so that it tinkled a little as he passed it on. I hadn't rung it before, and it was a merry, cheerful little sound that seemed to lighten the very air around me, but this assumption of his that Bertram was so helpless as to need the bell at hand constantly was beginning to grate on the raw.

"What on earth could possible arise in the middle of the night that I would require your help with, Jeeves?" And I meant the question to be sarcastic, only just after I said, it occurred to me that there was one particular thing that could arise in the middle of the night that I would certainly not mind having his assistance with. And as a consequence, I could feel my face heat up like the stove top, and turn, I suspect, nearly as red.

Jeeves raised an eyebrow, no doubt taking in my flushed state, "I'm sure I could not say, sir," he murmured.

"Ah, um, well – right ho, then," I stammered, and beat a hasty retreat. It had almost seemed for a moment as though Jeeves were flirting with me, and it's hard enough to resist throwing myself at him when he's simply walking around being all Jeevesian and perfect. If he insisted on being inviting as well, I was going to have to invest in a straight jacket to wear round the flat.

What with one thing and another - where one thing was definitely the pain in my jaw - I did not fall instantly to sleep once I had myself nestled in amongst the blankets and pillows.

This was most likely fortunate, since I would have missed the entrance of the wraith of Gloria Hart issuing forth from the floorboards. She had a soft and conciliatory look about her that I instantly knew spelled trouble for Bertram.

"What ho, restless spirit," I greeted her, clinging to my good manners despite the circumstances.

"Good evening Mr. Wooster. I must say," She began, her eyes wide and appealing, "I'm awfully sorry for losing my temper this afternoon. And after everything you've done for me!"

"Water under the bridge," I assured her, "Now, if that's all-"

"I wouldn't want you to think I'm ungrateful, after all," she said, still in that sort of supplicating tone, meant to lure me off guard. But once you've been lured into an engagement with the soppiest girl in England, who writes poetry and thinks that the stars are God's daisy chain, melting, wide-eyed appeals from soft spoken girls have no power to move.

"Quite," I said firmly, "Say no more."

"Only," she continued, "As you pointed out today, my little ruse didn't work after all, so-"

"Ah, planning to give up, are you? I have to discourage you against trying again, it isn't the sort of trick that will work twice," I advised, trying to sound rather like a wise old uncle - you know, knowledgeable, and authoritative, someone a young dead girl might listen to, that sort of thing.

"No, of course, you're quite right, Mr. Wooster," she admitted, and I was halfway to twisting my arm around to give myself a pat on the back, when she continued, "I need to try a different angle entirely."

"Ah," I said, deflating, "I don't suppose you have anything planned out, what?"

"As it happens, I do!"

"You do, do you? I don't suppose it involves me?"

"How did you know, Mr. Wooster?"

"Oh, just instinct, I suppose," I sighed.

"I need you to seduce Mr. Renault," she said, destroying with one blow her image of an innocent, if dead, girl, by not batting an eye at her own shocking suggestion.

"I say!"

"You'll do it, won't you?" She asked, and I don't think I was imagining the hint of a threat in her tone.

"Out of the question," I said, "Absolutely not," putting my foot down as much as I could whilst supine.

"You disappoint me, Mr. Wooster, I had thought you had realized it was in your best interests to help me."

"When you put it like that, I hardly even know why you're asking! I suppose you'll just turn Bertram into your merry puppet again. Well, go ahead," I sighed, "I can't very well stop you."

"Don't be absurd," She said scornfully, though I couldn't see what I'd said to merit it, "I can't seduce Mr. Renault."

"No?"

"No!"

"Developed some scruples, what?"

She looked at me coldly, "I suspected you were an idiot, and this confirms it. I can't seduce Mr. Renault," she said, very slowly, "Because my heart belongs to Louis."

"Oh, ah," I said, not quite getting it, but willing to let the matter slide to avoid any more personal insults, "While we're on the subject, who is Mr. Renault?"

"The disgusting abomination that stole my dearest love from me. I thought you'd figured out that much already. You really are slow."

"Oh, the secretary you mean?" Things were beginning to click, "I say, what good does seducing him do? He'll hardly mind Loopy straying if he's straying himself."

"No, but Louis will. He'll be furious! He'll cast Mr. Renault aside, and my path will be cleared," she crowed, clearly not seeing the other obstacle looming before the path - i.e. that she was dead.

"Well, I won't do it," I said, and pulled my blankets over my head.

"Yes, you will," I heard her say through the sheet.

"No, I bally well will not!" I said, "Seducing and misleading secretaries is against the Code. Out of the question."

"Oh, really?" She asked, her voice had gone sly and dangerous, "What about seducing and misleading valets?"

I shot up in bed, got trapped in the blankets, and had to stop and wrestle with them for a moment. When I emerged, I gave her the fiercest glare in my arsenal, the one that burns strong men to a crisp where they stand, "Madam," I said sternly, "You are trying my patience."

At this display of manly indignation, I expected her to collapse into a puddle and trickle through the floorboards in shame, but apparently this ghost was made of sterner stuff, for she merely tossed her head, sending wisps of spectral hair flying about her like a electrical storm.

"You," she said, "Are trying mine."

"Leave Jeeves out of it!" I said, and perhaps I was louder than was wise, because before you could speak of the devil, Jeeves was in amongst us, and I half suspected him of being incorporeal as well, because I hadn't even heard him use the door.

"Sir," Jeeves said, "Did you call for me?"

"Um, no Jeeves," I said, sinking back into the pillows, in what was likely a vain attempt to make it look like I'd been sleeping all the while. Gloria was eyeing my man speculatively, her glowing eyes darting from him to self in a way that made me distinctly uneasy.

"Perhaps you meant to ring the bell?"

"No, Jeeves, just, you know, having a little chat with myself. Possibly your name came up, possibly it didn't. You know how it is," I said, nerves making my voice wobble just on the end, but otherwise I thought I came off passably nonchalant.

"If I might ask sir, will you be returning to sleep now?"

"Mr. Wooster, one last time, will you help me or not?" Gloria asked at the same time.

"I will not!" I told her distractedly, and then realized at Jeeves's expression that - well, of course he'd heard me.

"Sir?"

But I did not get a chance to explain, because all of a sudden, Gloria was rushing at me, and everything went dark and swimmy. I felt as though I had fallen back onto the pillows, and then down through them, but I must not have after all, because a moment later, I was back to myself, and once again, kissing someone rather passionately.

It was quite a nice feeling, really, I had soft, warm pillows pressed all against my back and a hard, warm someone pressed all against my front. The cloying smell of roses and Loopy's pungent cologne was missing, which was something of a relief - everything smelled of home, of cotton sheets, potpourri and ... Jeeves.

My hands had gotten all wrapped up around his neck, and honestly, I didn't want to let go, so it took me a guilty moment to get free, and when I had, all I could do was stare at him aghast. His lips were red and swollen and his hair was all mussed out of it's normal slicked back style.

I had kissed Jeeves. I had _rumpled_ Jeeves!

I remember a conversation I once had with young Stiffy Byng, who had asked me if one could kiss Jeeves. I had told her certainly not - and I had meant it. I had seen the man shy away from a pat on the back. With Jeeves, a friendly handshake is just about right. But here I'd gone and slipped a kiss past him.

"Jeeves!" I cried, powerless to say anything else, and I half meant it as an appeal, and half as a prayer that his great, powerful brain could somehow get me out of this mess, nevermind that he was in it up to his eyebrows too.

"Sir?" He replied, calm as anything, and I have to tell you, instead of being glad that my assault hadn't caused him to lose his Jeevesian sangfroid, my heart sank like a lead stone that had rebounded off of an iceberg of despair. I mean to say, of all the times that I had daydreamed of doing exactly this, I'd once or twice allowed myself to imagine him responding positively. You know, getting down on bended knee, perhaps, or sweeping the young master off to bed. And I had generally prevented self from going through with things by focusing on the more likely outcome: picturing the inevitable stuffed frog expression, the cold words, the giving notice - but I had never thought he'd simply say, "sir?" as if the whole thing had been blanked from his memory. He'd shown more bally emotion when I'd asked him for pie! The only bright side, as I could see it, was that Gloria had apparently biffed off into the ether, no doubt congratulating herself on a job well done.

"I'm sorry, Jeeves," I said, and my voice was so small that I daresay anyone other than Jeeves - who has excellent hearing- would have missed it, "I didn't mean to," and pulled the sheets up over my head again.

"Sir?" I heard Jeeves asked again, and then there was nothing. I held myself under the sheets, not daring to move, even though I rather assumed he'd already left. But it was a few minutes later that I heard the bedroom door open and shut behind him, and I realized he must have stood there watching me for a while. And then he'd actually made noise so I'd know he was gone, which meant he hadn't been fooled for a second that I was asleep, which gave me an awful sort of twisting feeling in my stomach.

Jeeves often refers to sleep as "nature's sweet restorer," but the trick of it is, you actually have to sleep for the sweet restoring to kick in. Just lying there doesn't work - I know, because I tried it that night, and I arose in the morning with dark circles under my eyes, a bruise on my jaw, and a hollowness of spirit that I hadn't felt since the last time Jeeves went on vacation.

As it was, I rose - if you can call it that - with the lark, several hours earlier than is my custom, and so was able to wash self, don the suit, and sneak downstairs before Jeeves could come in and greet me with my tea as he usually does. He'd note the exception, and no doubt find it strange, but I felt that I couldn't bear another encounter with me in bed, and him not.

But if my kissing him soundly on the lips hadn't wrung comment from him, my sneaking down the stairs at 7 ack emma did, for I was greeted with a raised eyebrow.

"Good morning, Jeeves," I said, with an attempt at nonchalance.

"Good morning, sir, if I may take the liberty of noticing, you are awake somewhat earlier than usual again, sir."

"Oh, well, you know how country air is. Invigorating and whatnot." I stood there staring at him for a bit, and at rather a loss, seated myself at the dining table, more for somewhere to be than any real desire to eat. But Jeeves clearly took it as a signal, for he said he'd fetch me some breakfast and vanished off to the kitchen before I could call a halt.

Typical of Jeeves to be ever alert to the care and feeding of the young master, even in times of crisis. Or so I thought, for when he returned only moments later, and set down a plate of eggs in front of me, they were stone cold, all the way through.

Here now, Wooster, you may be saying to yourself - you assault the man, then confront him at some ungodly hour, demanding eggs, and then complain that they're cold? Ungrateful, you may call it. And if I had turned the eggs away, you would be free to do so. But I sat there and continued to raise laden forkful after laden forkful to the lips as though there were nothing wrong. Inwardly, however, there was turmoil. I was trying to reason out these cold eggs, and the conclusion I was getting at was rather rummy.

>   
> 1\. Jeeves is a genius in the kitchen, and has never ruined a dish of food in his life.  
> 2\. If he had, then, ruined a dish of eggs, it must have been on purpose, what?  
> 3\. But even Jeeves, genius though he may be, could not create a plate of cold eggs in 30 ticks of the second hand.  
> 4\. So he must have had the cold eggs prepared for Wooster before hand.  
> 5\. But why would he have them prepared so early?  
> 6\. Unless he'd prepared them for himself...  
> 7\. But if so, why where they cold?  
> 8\. Because he had not eaten them, obviously.  
> 9\. I say, was Jeeves starving himself?!  
> 

These were not just eggs. They were not even simply cold eggs. These were the eggs of Jeeves's discontent.

I had always known that Jeeves was a creature of delicate sensibilities - a necktie with horseshoes printed on it could send him into a decline. What power, then, would the importune advances of the young master have? Mind you, he'd never had difficulties refusing me something before, but I did not assuming kissing was in the same category as a banjolele. I found myself wishing I had told him about the ghost from the first. Even if he had thought me mad, it couldn't have been nearly as bad as what he must be thinking of me now. No, it is always best to bring in Jeeves early, for the best results. It was what I had told my pals more than once, and I would have done well to listen to my own advice.

As it was, I could not tell him now without looking like the worst sort of craven noodle. A man can't just go around assaulting people and then blame it all on a ghost, especially if she was female. It didn't look right.

I had to solve this problem myself. Mind you, I didn't have any idea of where to begin, having no one to consult, and only an empty sack of salt to show for my efforts thus far.

Still, even I know where to get information when I don't have it, and while my preference is to ask Jeeves, seeing as how that was out of the question, I made my way to the Tumby Woodside lending library.

The library was smallish, only one floor, but filled with enough rows of books to make my head swim. However, there was a helpful looking chappy with graying hair and spectacles sitting by a sign that read "information," so I trotted over, and gave him a friendly, "what ho."

Librarians, as a species, tend not to like Bertram, and this one was no exception, for on sight of me, his lip curled into a little half sneer, and I could see that he was telling himself that here was one of those types who falls asleep on top of the reading desk, drooling on the books, and snoring loudly.

And he was not wrong, either, for that was how he found me a few hours later, after having handed me a stack of books on folklore and superstitions and whatnot, that had proved too much for the old bean.

He ticked me off pretty soundly, then booted me out, and I was left with nothing for my trouble but an inky smudge on my left cheek. Well, I did remember reading that holly could be used to ward off spirits, and while I thought I had seen some in Jeeves's potpourri, I had no idea how to use it, so that was hardly helpful.

I couldn't quite stick going back to the cottage right away after my little errand, picturing as I was Jeeves's stuffiest stuffed frog expression and the cinders of my snappiest togs awaiting me. So I legged it over to the local pub, which was pretty merry, even for early afternoon, if none too clean, and I played a game of darts or twelve, winning more than I lost, and toasting myself with a bit of whiskey.

The whiskey might have explained why it took me so long to get back to the cottage, actually, for I didn't roll back up to the temporary homestead until the stars were dotting the sky.

Jeeves had left me a note, reminding me that since he was still owed a night off, he had taken it, and left me a cold meat pie for supper.

More cold food. Rummy.

I went to sleep that night with a feeling of impending doom, and I was proven right when not more than a few hours later, the villainess Gloria reappeared in my chambers.

"What ho, Gloria," I said, sounding forlorn and broken even to my own ears.

"That was a rather pathetic showing last night, wasn't it? Your poor valet," she said, insubstantial arms crossed over her insubstantial bosom, "You'll need a bit more follow through with Mr. Renault than that, if you want to convince him that yours is a forever love."

"But ours is not a forever love," I pointed out.

"Of course not," she said pointedly, "but he needs to think it will be, or he'll never release Louis from his foul clutches."

"I don't suppose you'd consider relenting, and letting Bertram off the hook? I don't know if ghosts have a code, but I have mine, and toying with fragile hearts has top billing."

"You will toy with Renault's heart," she said, growing darker, near to blotting out the sun, "Or you will wake up tomorrow to find you have fired your valet. Mr. Wooster, I hope I have made myself clear." And then she disappeared, feeling, I suppose, as though she had had her say, and there was nothing left for it but to leave me to be getting on with things.

Except I wasn't entirely sure I could get on with things. I know I've mentioned the Code of the Woosters from time to time, but I'm not sure if I've laid out, point for point, what this code fully entails. I shall not do so now, either, since the main thrust of the rules will suffice to explain why the situation I was in was particularly sticky.

The code was handed down to me by my great-great-great-great Uncle Ambrose, who was, you will have realized if you counted the number of "greats," quite dead at the time. He being one of the chatty ghosts I referred to earlier. Much of the code was outdated, of course, the code itself falling out of favor with the main familial line sometime during the Renaissance, and included things like how one should hold one's vigil, if one was too be knighted. Uncle Ambrose was, quite literally, the _preux chevalier_ I had aimed to be, ever since he had given me the Code. And while the specifications about sword polishing were out of date, the guidelines he had inscribed for how to treat one's fellow man never would be.

And for fifteen years, I had kept to this code, come hell or high water. Only now, if I did, I would be losing the one thing I valued most.

Jeeves.

On the one hand, I held my honor as man, on the other, I held my paragon of a valet. I wrangled over the decision for several minutes, feeling as though I had come to a crossroads in my life. But I could come to no conclusion, I felt, until I had seen Jeeves once more.

What one wanted, in these situations, was to put the thing to Jeeves, and I was considering whether if, perhaps, I couched my problem as a hypothetical sort of thing, I might be able to do it yet. Thus energized, I leaped out of bed and went in search of the man.

I did not get to ask Jeeves my hypothetical, however, because he spent the whole of the morning ignoring me in the stuffiest and politest way imaginable. I had seen him operate this way before, when we had argued over some trifle and he expected that soon events would bear out to show me the error of my ways. If such had been the case this time, I would have wished heartily for events to be born out and for this mess to be done with. As it was, a morning without a good chat with Jeeves just showed me how bally miserable I would be if he was torn from my side, and all mornings henceforth would be the same as this one, as dry, and as featureless as the Gobi desert.

My path was clear. Or at least, the path to Loopy's study, where he and the chap Alain were working, was clear. How to get the secretary out of the study, and sway him into letting the love of Wooster into his heart... well, that path was hopelessly muddled.

I had shaken off Loopy's butler pretty sharply, and so I was unannounced when I peeked my head into Loopy's study, and found him at the tail end of a frightful row with Alain. We Wooster's have a keen, observant eye, and I could tell it was a row because there were papers fluttering everywhere like large snowflakes, and I could tell it was nearing the end because Loopy was wilting at his desk with his head in his hands, and Alain was looking cold and aloof by the bookshelves, with a weather eye on the nearby whiskey decanter.

There may have been better and safer moments for me to interrupt, but for getting them to agree to part with each other, there could not be, so I gave the inward tally ho and bounded forth.

"What ho, Loopy! What ho, young Renault!"

Loopy looked startled, "You're alive!"

"Yes, it seems that way," I agreed.

"However did you get away from that brute, Henri?"

"My brother is not a brute!" Alain interjecting sharply. Since I was trying to get on his good side, I did not mention that if he wanted people to think of his brother as a kind and gentle soul, he ought not to send him after them like a larger than usual attack dog.

"Oh, you know, Jeeves rather rescued me," was all I replied.

"Reggie always was a soft touch," Alain muttered darkly.

"Now that's all been settled, I expect you'll be heading back to London," Loopy said, hinting rather strongly.

"No, no. Think I'll stick around for a bit, yet. Maybe take a walk in the gardens. You know, that sort of thing."

"What?" Loopy said, "Why?"

I ignored him, "And I was thinking I could perhaps use some company, you know, on my walk-"

"If you think I'm letting you walk in the gardens with Louis again-" Alain began.

"Actually, I was thinking you might walk with me, young Renault. Maybe we could talk about this little misunderstanding we're having," I suggest, using my most winning smile on him.

The sight of said winning smile seemed to set off an alarm in Loopy, "Alain, I really don't think-"

"Oh, so it's come to this, finally, has it? Very well, Mr. Wooster," Alain said, grabbing his suit jacket off the back of a chair and heading purposefully past me out the door, "Let's go walk in the blasted garden!"

It was not the first time I had tried to woo someone who was vexed with me, so even though Alain looked like he would rather biff me one in the eye than speak to me, I felt I was on somewhat familiar ground. Why the whole of my courtship with Florence Craye was full of these sort of moments, where the business of the day was to ease her from scornful wrath to sweeter things. I never actually managed it, but there you are.

"Have you ever thought about love?" I began, sallying forth with a trusted opening line.

"Oh, good lord, you're not using that tired old line to soften him up, are you?" A distinctly feminine voice asked from over my shoulder, and a moment later, Gloria Hart wafted into view. I tried to shoo her away with a wave of my hand, hoping that Alain would assume I was swatting at a gnat.

She was right, however. Alain didn't seem terribly interested in keeping the conversation flowing, but was instead peering suspiciously past me at, I thought, the rosebushes. I don't blame him. As a child, I once bent over to sniff one of my aunt's prize buds, and got stung right on the nose by a bee that had been hiding amidst the petals. You never could tell with roses what might fly out at you. Rum, that.

Meanwhile Gloria was not retiring from the field as I had hoped, but was lingering, an avid, if dead, spectator. It was hard to forge on under such scrutiny, but we Woosters know how to carry on.

"The roses are blooming rather well, what? There's a poet johnny who says something like, 'roses by any other name would be just as spiffing,' but I've always thought it rather fortunate they weren't called something that sounds wretched, like wormwood."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Gloria asked sharply, "Get on with it!"

"Did you hear that?" Alain asked.

"What I mean to say is, your name is quite nice, if French, and it rather suits you-"

"Stow it Wooster, and listen. Do you hear something?"

"No?" I blinked at him, "Possibly a cricket, just now, though."

Alain lowered his voice, "I don't think we're alone."

"Well, I suppose there could be a gardener about-"

"No," Alain said firmly, "I know who it is." And then he raised his voice again, "And you may as well come out and show yourself!"

To my surprise, someone did - there was a frantic leafy sort of rustling, and then Loopy appeared, looking slightly scratched and a little worse for wear for having hidden himself in a rosebush.

"Oh, he gave himself away, the poor dear," Gloria sighed with disappoint, "I was hoping he'd catch you two at something good."

Alain looked baffled, "Louis? What are you doing here?"

"Ah, well, I was worried, and-"

"Fine, fine," Alain sighed, "You weren't who I was talking to anyway. He turned to squint at the largish sort of hedge behind me, "I can hear you quite clearly, so there's no use hiding!"

"Oh, alright," A voice called from behind the hedge, and suddenly Henri was in amongst us as well.

"I say, this garden is not as private a place as I had been lead to believe." I protested.

"Not you too, Henri!" Alain cried, "Oh, bother, it wasn't you I heard either, so you may as well go away again."

"Why would I?" Henri asked, "This is more entertaining than a bloody three act play."

"I am tired of these games," Alain shouted, "Come out now, or... or..." he trailed off for a moment, then glanced at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes, "Or I shall assault Mr. Wooster."

"What kind of incentive is that?" Gloria scoffed.

There came a polite sort of coughing, and Jeeves shimmered into place, looking as near to being sheepish as ever I'd seen him, "Forgive me, Al, I was just walking nearby, I did not intend to-"

"Oh, for-" Alain made a frustrated noise like a over-set hen, "If there's anyone else in the bushes, they can just stay there, I don't care!"

"You don't?" I asked.

"No, I am trying to communicate with that witch, Gloria Hart."

"How dare you call me a witch?" Gloria screamed, and then vanished, as though she could not hold her rage and her form at the same time. It was rather a relief to be rid of her, but no one else seemed to notice her leaving, even Alain, who had started visibly when she'd yelled at him.

"I say, Alain, you aren't going to have much luck there," Loopy pointed out, "She's dead."

"I know she's dead!" Alain cried, "It took me a while, but I finally get this whole ghost business."

"What ghost business?" Henri asked, but was soundly ignored.

"I've never seen her, but I recognize her voice," Alain said, turning to Loopy, "You should have told me she was haunting you!"

Loopy looked startled, and simply gaped.

"I was haunted?" Loopy asked incredulously, "By Gloria? Are you absolutely certain?"

"Oh, don't pretend, sir! You know I caught her speaking to you at nights."

"But - what?" Loopy explained, "I never heard a thing!"

Alain looked pretty skeptical, and I could tell that this "who, me?" bit of Loopy's wasn't getting him anywhere. I was on the verge of stepping in myself, when Jeeves coughed softly and interrupted, "Forgive me, Al, but it is entirely possible that your Mr. Lufton does not have the same level of psychical sensitivity that you possess, and was unaware of Miss Hart's activities."

"It's true," Loopy shrugged, "I never saw any of the things that Bertie was always crying about in school."

"Loopy!" I hissed, "You aren't even supposed to know about that!"

"Oh, honestly, Bertie, the cat's rather out of the bag at this point."

"And you!" Alain said, pointing an accusatory finger at Bertram, "You've been helping her all this time!"

"Not willingly, I suspect. If sir will permit me the observation," Jeeves interjected politely.

"Exactly!" I said, "She kept taking control of my body and having me do terrible things. I'm so sorry Loopy... Jeeves," I hung my head.

"She can do that?" Loopy said, "I say, that's dangerous, what?"

"What sort of terrible thing did you do to Reggie, Wooster?" Henri asked with a smirk, "I bet you enjoyed it."

I stiffened, "It does not concern you," I rebuked him.

"Oh, but I think it does," Alain responded archly, "I heard her talking to you just now, and I know you were about to try it on me."

Henri took a threatening step towards me, and I raised my hands in a pacifying manner to fend him off, "Nothing personal, old thing," I said, "I didn't want to do it. But she was threatening Jeeves."

"I say, why is my dead fiancée threatening Bertie's manservant?"

"Oh, um," I said, risking a glance at Jeeves, and hoping he wouldn't work out exactly why he was my weak spot, "She had rather decided that Bertram was the only person who could assist her in her nefarious ends, and of course I didn't want to, but-"

"I suspect," Jeeves offered, "That the young lady may have viewed me as a threat."

"Really, Jeeves?" I said, blinking.

"Yes, sir, I fear she recognized the potpourri which I had set around the cottage. It is a mixture used to dissuade spirits from congregating in a location, but I regret to say that Miss Hart is stronger than the usual apparition, and it must have had little effect on her."

"Well, she flickered at bit when she got near it, Jeeves," I told him, remembering back.

"Indeed, sir?"

"But if this is all true then - oh, Louis, I thought the most terrible things of you! And I accused you falsely over and over again. Can you ever forgive me?" Alain had started to cry a little, and I must say, the way his eyes looked, all wide and sparkling with tears was rather appealing.

It certainly guaranteed a receptive response from Loopy, for it was a mere matter of seconds before he had Alain folded into his arms.

And if I hadn't made a daring leap at the very last moment, and covered Jeeves's eyes with my hand, my man would have seen the love that dare not speaking it's name bally well attempt to spell itself out in sign language.

Jeeves may be traditional, but I figured he ate enough fish to put 1 and 1 together to get 2 if 1 and 1 were pretty well glued at the lips, and I was taking no chances with his virtue.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Jeeves?"

"Would you be so good as to uncover my eyes, sir?"

"No, Jeeves, I would not," I replied. Of course he could have always removed my hand himself. While I possess a certain willowy strength, Jeeves could probably wrestle a bull or an elephant - possibly a bull elephant - into submission - why, I had once seen him triumph over a more than particularly irate swan - and so Bertram was not likely to give him a real challenge.

But Jeeves seemed to prefer rhetoric over force of arms and was trying another tack, "Sir, I believe you are suffering from a misconception regarding my awareness of the nature of the relationship between Mr. Renault and Mr. Lufton."

"Nonsense, Jeeves," I lied, "I am well aware of your omniscience, and I know that it will have hardly escaped your attention that Loopy and Mr. Renault are good friends."

Henri was, at this point, laughing quite heartily, but I ignored him.

"I am not sure you are understanding me, sir," Jeeves replied, and I suspect that it weren't for the feudal spirit burning in his breast, his tone would have been bitingly sarcastic, "How may I convince you, sir?"

"Ah, well," I said, stalling a little.

"It has often been said, sir, that actions speak louder than words. If you will permit me the liberty, I think you would benefit from the added volume." And with that, he snaked an arm around me, then dipped me over the same and began to kiss me soundly, as though we were some cinematic couple. After what felt like only a moment, he righted us again and gave me a rummy sort of look as if to say, "there now, Wooster!"

"Jeeves!" I cried, for I could come to only one conclusion, "You're possessed, aren't you?" For, just because I could not see Gloria anywhere nearby at present, didn't mean she wasn't nearby - i.e. in Jeeves. I mean to say, as far as kissing went, it was rather her _modus operandi_, whereas Jeeves was as likely to kiss me as... well, there was no need to go stirring that kettle, what?

"Not the brightest lad, eh?" Said Henri, who was watching us with some interest.

"He makes up for it in other ways," Jeeves said, and the words rather warmed me, as well as the way he had put his arm in mine. I had to remind myself quite forcibly that he was under the influence of a vengeful female, "Come, sir," Jeeves said to me, gently guiding me out of the garden, "Perhaps we can resolve this after we've conducted an exorcism back at the cottage."

I waved my farewells at Loopy and Alain, who missed it, being otherwise occupied, and at Henri, despite his impertinent comments. Then I turned back to Jeeves, "But I don't know how to perform an exorcism, Jeeves. Or should I say Gloria?" I asked, peering at him closely.

"I am not possessed, sir, so 'Jeeves' will suffice for the present."

"Are you quite certain, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir. And it is myself who I suppose will perform the exorcism, sir, though your assistance would be helpful, if you can spare the time."

"I say, Jeeves," and I looked up at him, "You seem to know a bally awful lot about this sort of thing."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Just the other day, you were telling me that ghosts don't exist, and now I find out you've been setting out dishes of herbs to keep them clear of the place!"

"True, sir."

"And now we're heading off to conduct an exorcism!"

"Indeed, sir."

"Don't say 'indeed, sir,' like this is quite the same thing as ironing the young master's trousers. I mean, I know you're a genius, Jeeves, but this is pretty far outside your usual realm of expertise."

"On the contrary, sir, spirits are quite at the center of my 'realm of expertise,' as you put it."

"Now we're getting somewhere! Continue, Jeeves!"

"As I was saying, sir, my family has a history of producing and training exorcists."

"What? I thought your family rather prided itself on serving the best houses in England, not bunging out the restless spirits."

"Just so, sir. I'm sure you are aware that the reputation most great country houses have of being infested with ghosts is not unfounded?"

"Yes, I bally am aware," I muttered darkly, thinking on all the times during my childhood that I'd roosted in places that were simply crawling with ancestral wraiths.

"Indeed, sir, it was for this reason that my family has been able to add their peculiar talent to the list of services they might offer a family."

"And you too, Jeeves, offer this service? You never mentioned it."

"No, sir," Jeeves coughed apologetically, "My abilities in this line are less than perfect, and so I do not typically-"

I stopped him with a raised hand, "Jeeves!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you just say you were less than perfect, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, raising the eyebrow a touch.

"Well, I won't hear of it. Strike this 'less than perfect' from your vocabulary. It's utter rot."

"If you'll pardon me, sir, I have defect which-"

"'Defect!' Strike that, too, Jeeves!"

"-prevents me from seeing spirits," Jeeves continued, loftily ignoring my admonitions, "Therefore, I cannot verify an apparition's existence or target my exorcisms with any efficiency."

"But I can," I said, coming to a halt, and noticing belatedly, that we had nearly arrived at the cottage, "Jeeves, I can see them."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you know, Jeeves?"

"I had heard rumors, sir, before entering your service, but I saw no sign of any such abilities on your part until recently, sir."

"I think they were busy lying dormant. Bit of a disappointment for you, what?" I chuckled weekly.

"No, sir," Jeeves replied calmly, and opened the cottage door for me, "I soon found other compensations in your employment, if you will permit me to say."

I entered, though I did not want to - the cottage had not, so far, housed any happy scenes, and I was a bit wary of it by this point, "And all this time, I was so careful to hide it from you that I was seeing a ghost."

"May I inquire as to why sir believed this to be necessary?"

"Well, Jeeves," I said, throwing myself down on the lounge, "It's rather simple, what? I thought you'd think me loony. And then I hadn't told you, and had lied about it, rather, and it just got harder to say."

"I see, sir. But I would not have thought you 'loony,' as you put it, I can assure you."

"Well, you say that now, but how was I supposed to know it at the time?"

"I would hope you had realized, sir, that I would not think you mentally disturbed for any secret of yours that you might confess to me."

"Awfully white of you," I replied, and then saw that I was again missing something, since his eyebrow had crept up his forehead, and the look he was giving me could only be described as rummy.

"I say, Jeeves, when you say any secret... do you mean any secret?" I asked, my heart pounding a bit.

"Indeed, sir. I would also not blanch at any criminal activity you may have engaged in."

"Jeeves!"

He looked apologetic, "It was simply a hypothetical statement, sir, I am certainly not accusing you of anything."

"Right ho."

"May I assume, sir, that you do, perhaps, have another secret to confess?"

"Oh, well, you see," I stalled, "...erm."

"Yes, sir?"

"I say, you already know about that time I stole a policeman's helmet, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"And that time with the absinthe?"

"Yes, sir. I believe there was something else you wanted to tell me about?" He asked gently, staring at me with all the patience of a kindly saint, waiting for me to confess all. My resolve crumpled.

"Well, Jeeves, it's like this..."

"Like what, sir?"

"Well, you already know I'm not much one for the fillies, what?"

"Yes, sir, that had not escaped my notice."

"Quite, yes. Well, as it happens, it seems that when it comes to matters of – er, love – I tend to prefer chaps. As it were."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Which is to say, I'm an invert."

"Excellent, sir," He said, and stepped a bit closer, till I could practically feel the warmth radiating off of his skin, "If you'll allow me to suggest, sir, I do believe the exorcism can wait."

"Can it, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir," He said, and then scooped me up in his arms, and, in a trice had me up the stairs and deposited on my bed.

"Jeeves!"

"Yes, sir?" He asked, quite correctly, but I could see his attention was not on the young master. Instead he was making rather quick work of his tie, and, as I looked on, his waistcoat.

"Jeeves?"

"Sir," He said absently, bending over me and sprinkling my neck with kisses till I quite nearly lost all my resolve.

"JEEVES!" I tried once more, and gave a great shove.

Jeeves picked himself off the floor, and scowled at me quite openly, having rather lost the feudal spirit when he'd tumbled from the bed, I gathered. "Sir?"

"Jeeves, I don't think the exorcism can wait!" I explained and pointed at the far corner of the room, where Gloria was hovering, a dark look in her eyes, and calling me all matter of foul names.

Jeeves glanced at the corner, and then turned back to me, "Sir, I have already told you, I cannot see spirits. Is something there?"

"Yes, it's Miss Hart!" I yelped.

"Very good, sir, if you will just reach over to the nightstand, you will find a silver bell-"

"Jeeves, I think this canoodling has injured your great brain. Why on earth would I use the bell to summon you when you're right here on top of me?"

"If sir will simply ring the bell, perhaps matters will become more clear."

I was a little dubious, but Jeeves generally knew best, so I gave the thing a twirl, sending out a bright silvery peel of sound. The result was the work of an instant. Practically the moment the bell knocker clanged against the side, the shade of Gloria Hart gave a little shriek and winked out of existence.

"Jeeves!" I cried, "She's gone!"

"Not permanently, sir," Jeeves said, "But the bell has the power to dispel spirits temporarily. I believe we have some time until she will be able to manifest herself again."

"Enough time for the exorcism, what?"

"And for perhaps one or two other activities, sir, if you will permit the suggestion."

"Suggest away, Jeeves!"

And he did, to the tune of helping me out of my sweater vest and then ripping my shirt off.

"Jeeves! I think you've ruined my shirt!"

"Terribly sorry, sir," he said, and kissed me in apparent apology.

"I liked that shirt," I lamented, when I once again had use of my mouth.

"It didn't suit you, sir." Jeeves said, and then tugged at my trousers till the button flew off, and bounced out into the hall.

"At least it was only the button this time,"I said, lifting up a bit so he could pull them the rest of the way off, "I suppose they can be repaired."

"I'm afraid not, sir," he said and pressed me down into the mattress.

"I say, Jeeves, are you trying to get me naked, or are you just taking this opportunity to destroy some of my clothes?"

"Both, sir," Jeeves breathed his answer softly into my ear, and then kissed me till I forgot all about trousers and shirt.

What with one thing and another, it was a while before I could think clearly again, but when the the afterglow had ebbed a bit, the old bean started to work.

"I say, Jeeves, you're an invert, too!" I cried in revelation, once capable of intelligible speech.

"Yes, sir, among other things," He replied coolly, giving me a sort of soupy look that meant, usually, that he was thinking less than flattering thoughts about Bertram.

I must have disappointed him, I suppose. I hadn't any complaints before, though on occasion, I had a tendency to be a bit quick off the mark. Perhaps Jeeves had felt I had jumped the gun, so to speak. I chewed my lip a bit, then ventured, "You wouldn't want to try it again sometime, would you, old thing? I'd be willing to try whatever you like."

I was nervous he'd turn me down, and my heart was rather thumping harder than when we'd been in the midst of the hot and heavy, but his soupy expression softened into a warm smile-ish sort of thing, where the corners of his mouth turned up a fraction, and his eyes crinkled a bit at the corners.

"Sir," He said patiently, "I think you have misunderstood me."

"Oh, well," I floundered, because it sounded awfully a lot like a rejection, but I could read his map like an experienced navigator by now, and it looked to me like the topography was telegraphing something like fondness beyond the avuncular.

"I love you, sir."

"What!" I said, shooting up in the bed, "Are you certain?"

"Quite certain, sir," He said dryly, "I have felt this way for some time now, and have had ample time to analyze and diagnose the emotion."

"But, Jeeves," I said, "Are you sure it's me? You could have anyone, you know. I can understand if your tastes don't run to princesses, but there are always princes, what?"

"Yes, sir, but in the old chivalric romances, I had always been most attracted to the knights." He hinted, a little gleam in his eye.

"You don't mean the _preux chevalier_, by any chance, do you?"

"_Rem acu tetigisti_, sir."

The thing about living with Jeeves is, you begin to pick up these little bits and pieces of knowledge, and if I had gotten the gist of what he'd said, than that meant I had hit the needle on the nose, and it really was Bertram he was after.

"Oh, well," I said, flushing furiously, "I love you too, you know."

"Yes sir, I already knew," He said smugly.

"How?" I protested, though when he tugged on my arm, I allowed him to reel me back in to nestle at his side, "I never told you."

"That's never stopped me knowing anything before, sir," He said softly, stroking my back and rather lulling me into Morpheus's embrace, as well as his own.

"Right ho," I said sleepily. It was true enough.

THE END


End file.
